About a Boy
by lena1987
Summary: A story of threes: a little boy waits in a London orphanage; Hermione Granger does not do things by halves; Severus Snape finds what was once lost. HGSS. Complete in 5 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_****Written for a dear friend, orlando_switch, during a livejournal fest last year. ****_

****Recipient**** Orlando_switch  
****Title:**** About a Boy  
****Author/Artist:**** Anon  
****Pairing:**** Severus/Hermione  
****Rating:**** PG13+  
****Word Count/Art Medium/Craft Material:**** 14,650.  
****Content:**** Mentions of past character death.  
**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended.  
****Summary:**** A story of threes: a little boy waits in a London orphanage; Hermione Granger does not do things by halves; Severus Snape finds what was once lost.  
****Author's Note:**** With heartfelt thanks to my beta, AdelaideArcher. To dear prompter: I hope you enjoy the story. I combined various elements from your form, and I hope this pleases you.

About a Boy

****Part one****

****July, 1999****

__Rowan is 2__

Car horns sounded through the hot, heavy air of London in high summer. The streets were teeming with office workers and tourists, and Hermione Granger's way through the throng was slow going and awkward. She paused twice in shop doorways to shake out her robes – thin though they were, they were damp under her arms and sending the skin at the nape of her neck frustratingly itchy. On the second stop, the witch scooped up her hair and wound a band around the curly mass, furiously blowing a stray strand away from her sweaty forehead. She gave one, longing look at the inside of the store she was beside – it seemed cool and dark, and she was certain there was a ceiling fan lazily turning. All this cement. It made the air much hotter than the gentle fields of Ottery St. Catchpole, or Godric's Hollow. Home would've been blessedly cooler, with winds blowing up past the loch, the rain clouds sometimes emptying over her small house and sometimes—more often than she'd thought—leaving for other towns.

Hermione allowed herself a moment to gather herself. She thought of her home, of the fields, of the hills. She thought of Harry's quietly approving gaze, and of what she was about to commit to. Then, taking her courage and wand in hand, Hermione dove back into the crowd, taking the unfamiliar path to somewhere she never thought she'd need venture.

/

"So, there are three separate areas, organised in age groups," the older, hardened witch was saying.

Hermione was having trouble focusing on Irma Pince's words. The Hogwarts librarian had answered her first enquiring letter, and yet placing her here, in this place, was enough to throw Hermione from the calm manner she'd focused on creating.

"Miss Granger?"

"Yes," she said quickly, pausing in the corridor to stare into a window set into a nearby door. The room inside was painted brightly, and the toys were colourful enough to hurt her eyes. She turned away from the busyness and gave Madam Pince a tight smile. "Sorry. I don't want to give the impression of – well, anything other than the fact that I'm very much wanting to be here, Madam Pince."

The witch's black eyes softened in a way she'd never seen as a student. "Are you finding it overwhelming?"

Hermione returned to her side. "This place? Yes."

They began walking again. Madam Pince paused before a nondescript office door and gave her a long look.

"Then imagine how the children feel, Miss Granger."

Choosing not to answer—for she had been thinking of this each night now for months, the guilt of it all twisting her insides and stealing her sleep—Hermione stepped into the office and took the chair in front of Pince's desk.

"I brought the approval forms," she said, retrieving her beaded bag from a pocket in the forest green robes she wore.

Pince held out her hands and began scanning them almost immediately. Her aged fingers flicked through each piece of parchment. Hermione had come as soon as she could. The parchment still flicked up at the ends, from where the Ministry's ribbon had tied it into a scroll the day before.

"The history checks…" Pince trailed off.

Hermione withdrew another letter and handed it over. "I have the location report, too. And – here." Suddenly anxious, she shoved her hand into the bag and withdrew an envelope. "Receipts. For the furniture."

Madam Pince glanced at her from above her pile of parchment. "Not necessary. Keep them, though. I assume you've made copies?"

"Of course." She nodded quickly. "One set of forms at home, another set with Harry."

"How did you resolve the bedroom issue?"

"It's on the report," Hermione answered, wanting to just be __right__. "I extended."

Pince didn't look at her. "Magically or… otherwise?"

"I live in an area where not all individuals are of Magical descent, Madam Pince," Hermione said instead. "As I said, it's been approved, and all the information is there. Do you… Is there anything missing?"

She knew damned well there wasn't. What was it about being a young woman that made her hate to be anything other than __polite__ and __agreeable__?

"No, no." The former librarian of Hogwarts fixed Hermione with her best crumbs-on-books look. "You do realise that your age…"

Hermione took a breath in, then out, and lifted her chin. "I've been approved, Madam Pince."

"Employment?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "I've secured a position with the Department for Magical Beings. It's a graduate program, with a permanent role at the end. The letter is there, Madam Pince. Signed and stamped by Professor McGonagall and Minister Shacklebolt."

She could see it all in the other woman's eyes. The doubt; the challenge. The room felt smaller, warmer, and it hemmed her in, drawing her hard-won surety out and replacing it with fear. She could see it, as plain as the frown on Pince's face. The witch was going to stall, or decline, or come up with something, anything, that would set her back, ruin all that she'd—

Madam Pince sighed, and the older woman's shoulders gave way just enough for her body to sag in the chair. Hermione saw her truly then, saw her as the witch really was: tired, old… giving up.

"I've been approved," Hermione repeated. "I want to see him. Now."

The witch answered her with a faint half-smile. "He's been waiting for you. Even though we tried to dissuade him… we never promise, you see. It wouldn't be fair on their poor minds to bear such a thing. But he knew. He's been asking after you." Pince paused, thinking. "He calls you Minny, you know."

Hermione stood swiftly, unable to stop her smile. Her body felt light; like she could fly to him and take him away right now, damn the paperwork, the signatures, the gathering of belongings.

"Take me to him, please," she managed, striding to the door.

She couldn't wait. She let Madam Pince open the door for her, but the older woman's pace wasn't quick enough. Hermione half-ran to the end of the hall, darting a look back to the witch who gestured with a weary hand to the right. She ran, then, picking up the skirt of her robes between her hands, feeling the heavy thud of her witch's boots on the wooden floor. The only door was mostly closed, just a sliver of light coming out. There were small sounds—oh, the small sounds—coming from inside, like the tinkling of wooden blocks being set, one on top of the other.

Hermione stopped there, at the door. She put a hand to her heart and felt it thudding, spreading hope through her body.

She knocked once. The sounds—those tiny, soft sounds—halted. Stuffing a fist in her mouth to force herself not to cry, Hermione swallowed roughly. She tossed her head and pushed the door open, her eyes snapping down to the figure sitting on the floor, surrounded by blocks, his body small and delicate, and his raven-black eyes watching her, the instant wariness slowly seeping away.

"Hello," she whispered, sliding into the room and dropping to her knees. "Hello, Rowan."

Hermione contained herself through sheer force of will. "It's good to see you. I've been so looking forward to seeing you here."

The last time they'd met had been a month ago, in a little room in the Ministry, with faded carpet and magical posters on the wall that listed nappy spells and proper hand-cleaning methods. Before that, St. Mungo's, where a stern-looking wizard had monitored her play with Rowan as he made notes she'd never managed to see. Just once more prior, when she'd met him for the very first time, in a surely once-cheery office in Diagon Alley, where they allowed already vigorously checked applicants to meet the child approved for them.

She'd had nightmares since last seeing him, wondering if he'd forgotten her.

The boy's eyes slid from her, to the blocks, then settled somewhere around her shoulders. "'Lo," he whispered.

/

When she took his hand in the foyer, he didn't cry. He held onto her hand with a fierce grip but he did not cry. She shouldered his bag, only half-full.

Bending down to as close to his height as she could get, Hermione smiled at the boy. "Would you like to come with me? I've made a room in my home. It's yours. Just yours."

He was still small yet, only really now losing the look of babyhood. He'd been cautiously walking when she first met him. He stood straight now, and her mind wanted to think that he knew what was really going on. That he knew he'd never return here. __Only two__, she reminded herself. She patted his shoulder. Rowan held his arms out and she hooked her hands gently under his arms, lifting him to her hip. She stood, unmoving, letting him adjust to her.

"We'll Apparate together, you and I," she murmured to him. He stared at her mouth as it moved. "And then we'll arrive on a road with a few houses. Mine is almost at the end. Remember my little red car? Toot-toot?"

Rowan's eyebrows rose. "Toot," he said once, chubby cheeks working. "Toot-toot."

"That's right!" she exclaimed. "That's where the toot-toot lives. There's blocks there, too." She made herself stop talking, not wanting to overwhelm the boy.

"All right," she said calmly. "Off we go."

And with Rowan on one hip, Hermione left the foyer and made for the Apparation chamber.

/

She tried not to ask him what he thought of the house. Instead she let him wander around it, exploring every nook and cranny. She followed him, a cup of tea in hand, as he opened cupboards, clumsily reached for door handles, and, once, as he sat in the driver's seat of her car, hands on the wheel, bouncing up and down where he stood on the seat.

He was a quiet boy, dark and serious. He had a head of curly hair, the colour of deepest brown; she thought it black in the shade, then when the clouds parted, it shone like gleaming forest wood. For all of this, the boy's skin was creamy white, pale in a way hers would never be. Jane Eyre would like him, Hermione rather thought, as she named his nose decisive instead of large.

His eyes caught her most. Black they were, like coals. Sometimes she shivered when she spoke to him, for she wondered who had given him those eyes. Not his mother, she knew. It couldn't have been a Death Eater. Rowan was born too soon for that. Professor Burbage hadn't even been on their radar until that article. Hermione could recall with perfect clarity how Draco had described it during his hearing, how the great head of the snake had—

"Minny?"

Hermione drew breath and placed her hand on the door frame. He had been in the garden, wandering after her beast of a cat.

"Yes, darling?" she said, folding her body down to better hear him. "What is it?"

Rowan's lips formed a delicate pout. "Cook gone. Gone, Cook. Out."

He was putting two words together now. Hermione had—privately—created her own checklists, and the night before had marked his language development with a proud grin. There were delays, inevitable ones given his experience in life so far, but she rather thought she was suited to the role of nurturing his mind. She didn't feel like a mother – his mother. The forms she'd sent off to Hogwarts to amend his records in that big old book in the Headmistress' tower named her as Guardian. She quite liked it.

Hermione stifled a smile. "Crookshanks slipped away, did he? That cheeky boy. Perhaps he wants some quiet time. Let's go and see what spot he's found to sleep in this time."

She took his hand and let the boy lead her into the sun.

/

That first evening, Rowan let her guide him into the shower, where he sprayed the tiled walls and his feet with the shower head. He held it in his little hand, a small smile escaping as he played. Hermione watched him from behind the screen, laughing each time he managed to get the water everywhere but himself.

"Shall Minny help you?" she asked, holding the towel in front of her. She'd taken out the thin ragged thing that had come in his bag and stuffed it into the bin, replacing it with a soft, thick hooded contraption that apparently was all the go these days.

"Ro' do it!" he crowed, giving a chuffed little "Hee!" of delight.

"Right. Rowan do it," Hermione repeated, cocking an eyebrow. "Rowan do it, indeed."

He continued to wash himself, only stopping once the water spray hit his face. He cried out then, and she hurriedly opened the shower door and shut the water off. His little black eyes were shut tight as he thrust out his arms, crying for the first time that day.

"Oh, love. Come here," Hermione murmured, wrapping the towel around the crying little boy and cradling him in her arms. She held him to her tightly, rocking him, knowing without needing to see that when he quietened, it was with his thumb wedged in his mouth.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go to bed. It's been a huge day, hasn't it?"

She continued to speak to him quietly as she carried him into the new bedroom across from hers, dried him then dressed him.

"Shall we read a story? I've got one about a kitty cat that I think you'll like."

"Yes, story!" Rowan said, grabbing the book she offered. "Milk?"

"Right! Milk." She grinned and hoisted him up onto the bed. "Have a look at that and I'll get your cup of milk. We'll brush your teeth after, all right?"

Rowan gave her a look that almost made her snort with laughter before she swallowed it. It was imperious; almost commanding in its 'What are you about?' way. She could've sworn she'd seen it before.

"Well, my parents are dentists, darling," she said, shrugging. "First rule of thumb: clean teeth before bed. And guess what? I found a toothbrush with a red toot-toot on it. Not much better than that, eh?"

He harrumphed. She giggled and turned on her heel, intent on getting milk for the little boy who now lived in her home, and would for at least the next sixteen years.

/

"He looks a bit familiar, d'you reckon?" Ron whispered, crouching down to get a better look.

Hermione pushed a lock of hair out of her face and bent next to him. She didn't say anything, opting to silently watch the sleeping child. She'd had Rowan to herself for a week before owling Harry and Ron. She was being tactful, she thought, by not bringing up that Ron had been on her doorstep only moments after receiving the missive.

It was nice, though, that she didn't have to tell him to whisper, or not to let that big body of his make loud movements. For all that they misunderstood each other, Ron understood children.

"Look at those cheeks," he was saying. The warmth in his voice was enough to bask in. "Handsome little wizard, aren't you?"

Rowan stirred in his sleep. The bed was too big for his small form, and he wore matching pyjamas with orange cats printed all over. Ron carefully placed his hand on Rowan's back, rubbing in circles until the boy puffed a sigh and fell back into the deep sleep that their admiration had disturbed.

Hermione smothered a smile. "Come on, you big goose."

/

"He would be familiar, yes," she said as they entered the kitchen.

Ron sat down at the table, immediately reaching for the tin of digestives that he knew was always there. Popping one into his mouth, he met her gaze. "Go on."

She put the kettle on to boil then sat opposite him.

"Well, you know how I wasn't meant to share any details with anyone? In case I wasn't approved at the end?"

"Mmph," said the big bear of a man before he folded his hands on the table.

"He's… Well, he's Professor Burbage's son. Charity Burbage." Hermione held herself still. She was now used to the little twinge of envy that hit her when she thought about her former Professor, who knew what it was to grow the beautiful boy inside of her. And as it always did, the envy went as soon as Hermione pondered the fate of their Muggle Studies Professor.

Ron choked on the biscuit but said nothing. She rose and busied herself with the tea. By the time she returned to the table, pot and cups following in the air behind her, he had composed himself.

"Is he now? Who is the father, do you know?"

She shook her head.

Ron frowned. "Didn't they tell you? That's a bit—"

"No, no," Hermione said as she poured. "There's no name on the birth certificate. Professor Burbage registered him in the non-Magical way, and there's nothing. They performed a DNA spell with all the items recovered from different skirmishes and the like but nothing came up."

"Still can't believe they keep those things. Dad says the Department of Mysteries has them in one of their rooms."

"Rowan wasn't the only child in the orphanage."

"I know. I get it, I do. S'just… Not very nice to think about, is it? Poor mites."

He sipped at the tea. Hermione still found it amusing how his large frame and sturdy hands could handle such a dainty cup without breaking it. In his flat above the shop, Ron had mugs almost as big as her hands. She could bury her face in the warm steam that rose from them. They had slogans on them, funny ones, though most bore Quidditch logos.

"I didn't really think you'd do it, at first," Ron said suddenly. He put the cup down and laid his hands on the table, studying them as if they were riveting. Hermione found that she didn't quite know what to say, so she said nothing.

"I mean, I thought it would be a bit like school," he continued slowly. "I thought you'd get the idea, get passionate, then settle down with it and work on other people taking it up. Older people. Ones with families already, or… or partners."

She wanted to tell him that if life had gone another way, then perhaps things would've quietened for her. Perhaps she wouldn't have felt a kinship with the boy that had been left behind by war, by a woman who Hermione had always seen a bit of herself in.

"It could've been me," she whispered, unable not to tell him.

He met her gaze, grimacing. "What do you mean?"

"Professor Burbage. Me in a few years, Ron. Can't you see the similarities?"

The colour drained from Ron's face. His right hand inched toward hers then retreated. "Is that what made you do it?"

She shrugged. She hadn't been able to answer that herself. "I don't know. A little. All I can tell you is that as soon as I knew she had a child, and he was alone… I felt it." She put her hand on her chest. His eyes followed the movement. "I could feel this burning guilt, and I knew that if I didn't do something, I'd go mad. Now that he's here, it feels right. Truly. It's inexplicable but I know this is where he's meant to be."

The kitchen was silent for a long while. Ron took several deep and quiet breaths, lulling them back into the calmness of the night.

"Harry been?" he said then, pushing the biscuit tin towards her. "Eat a bit."

She rolled her eyes, grabbing one nonetheless. "Not yet. I think he wants to bring Teddy."

"Good idea, that. A boy his own age. Do him some good to play a bit, socialise."

"Mmm. I've got another week's leave and then we'll be transitioning for nursery."

"So soon? How many days a week d'you think he'll go?"

"I know. I hate the idea." She drank deeply from the cup, then put it down and sighed. "I'm scared he'll think he's… being left again."

Ron's blue eyes met hers. He gave a twisted grimace. "Mum would do it in a heartbeat, you know. She keeps dropping hints. You're going back part time for a year or two aren't you? Put off nursery. Have you asked her?"

"I've thought about it, believe me. But he doesn't know her either. What's the difference, really, between a strange woman and a strange place?"

"A lot, I reckon. And it won't be safe for him in your local Muggle nursery either, if he starts to manifest soon. I reckon he will, too. Strong thing like him."

"I hadn't thought about that…" Hermione winced. "I mean I just assumed that there were… things in place to support such events."

"Not like you to assume, I thought."

"I have planned for absolutely everything __else__."

Ron took another biscuit. He ate it slowly, bit by bit. Finally, he Summoned a parchment and quill before giving her a look that meant everything and nothing.

"Do you trust the Ministry?" he said, sliding the parchment over the table. "Even now that Kingsley's heading it. That Harry's in it. After all of the reforms and the enquiries. All the good box ticking." He placed the quill carefully beside the parchment. She bit her lip. "Do you trust them?" he said again, leaning back in the chair.

Hermione glanced back to the hallway, where little Rowan was asleep in his bed, the night light bringing a faint golden glow out onto the wall.

She picked up the quill and pursed her lips. "No. No, I don't."

"There you go then. I could write to Mum but no doubt she'd want to talk to you instead anyway."

Hermione bent her head and began to write before she gave a little growl. "I feel so guilty. I've only just got him, and now I've got to—"

"Mother's guilt," Ron said sagely, looking satisfied. "Read it in one of Mum's magazines once."

"The ones she keeps in the loo?" Hermione shot back, eyes narrowed.

Unperturbed, Ron grinned. "Those would be the ones. Anyway – think he's ready for a broom yet?"


	2. Chapter 2

_Replies to the best ever reviewers coming soon... thought you might like this first though, eh? ;-) Seems like the page line breaks are being a bit funny, so forgive me that. _

* * *

****Part Two****  
__Rowan is five__

"I did it! Minny! __Minny__!"

Hermione whirled out of the bathroom and half-tripped down the stairs. "What? Rowan! Gods. You scared the life out of me."

He came streaking in from the garden, his face a mixture of excitement and smugness. "I did a spell!"

"Oh, did you now, Rowan Burbage?" Hermione said, cocking an eyebrow. She took one look at her wand in his hand and his glowing grin. "And what did you do?"

At this, the boy began to fidget. He went to the kitchen counter and took an apple from the bowl atop first, sinking white teeth into the red skin. "Umm," he managed, carefully placing her wand on the table. "Actually…" He over-pronounced the word, a habit that still made her smile.

She opened her mouth to ask again when Crookshanks bounded into the room. He was a bright, indignant shade of—

"Good God," Hermione choked. "At least tell me the last line wasn't: __turn this stupid fat cat yellow__?"

Rowan shook his head. "No, Minny." Then, lowering his voice, he scolded her: "Stupid is an 'F' word! It used to be, anyway. Uncle George says it __all__ the time."

She tried not to let him see how hard she fought not to laugh. "Right. Of course. How exactly did you do it, then?"

"I felt it coming," he said seriously, pointing at his left arm. "Through here. Then… out."

"Through your hand?" Hermione clarified, intrigued beyond measure. "Did it tingle?"

"It buzzed. And it stopped a bit, then came out," said Rowan, huffing with pleasure.

Hermione hummed and reached for her wand, stowing it way in her pocket. "That's brilliant. Crooks won't be happy but we'll let the colour wear off – maybe you can write down how long it takes. Try to remember if you said anything beforehand. And… best to not use my wand. Remember how the spell stopped before it got out properly?"

Rowan nodded solemnly. "Sorry…"

"It's fine, it's fine. But another person's wand can stunt the development of your own personal magic." She tapped her lips with her fingertip, considering how to word it for his young ears. "Using your body to get the magic out will make your magic stronger. My wand will work, but when your magic is growing, as you are, you don't want it to grow around something that wasn't made for you."

Oh, she'd encouraged him now. His eyes lit up. "So I can get magic out all by myself?"

"Well…" Hermione thought hard. On one hand, she would be encouraging a child to train himself in wandless magic, something that she was sure didn't always end well. On the other, the strongest wizard she'd known as a schoolgirl had supposedly been creating his own spells before setting a foot in Hogwarts.

"Well," she said, shrugging, "if it comes to you, and it doesn't hurt, just have a go. Try to focus on it at home, though. I want to see what happens!" She squeezed his shoulder. "Time to get ready for school, I think. Your robes are on your bed."

He grumbled under his breath but made for his room anyway. "Okay, Minny."

"Love you," she called, her breath catching when he turned and looked at her, his black eyes boring straight into hers. They looked flat and cold for a moment but then softened.

"Love you too," he said, offering a short grin before heading into the room.

Hermione stood for a moment in the kitchen. There was a slight swooping sensation within her. She had the oddest notion that she'd seen those eyes before.

* * *

She Apparated them both to Hogsmeade. The small primary school was located at the far edge of the town, the furthest from the main walk to Hogwarts. It was all rather nice, Hermione thought, and separated enough from the castle to still maintain the delusion that she wouldn't be losing Rowan to a boarding school soon enough. Molly was responsible for Hermione even knowing the school existed; it was only new, but staffed by teachers who had made a living tutoring with the home-schooling crowd in the long years during and between wars. There remained the sense that magical children were more suited to a home-based education, particularly because of the long periods spent away during the more senior years. A fine choice, and Hermione truly preferred it, but modern practicalities for working families meant that here she was, on a cold Scottish morning, farewelling her boy for another day.

"I love you, darling," she murmured, enfolding him in her arms. He allowed it for a second longer than normal.

"You too, Minny," he said, voice muffled by her coat. "I'm not excited about today."

Her heart broke. "No?" She eased back enough to see his expression. He looked slightly puzzled, adorably so, with a small frown on his brow and a purse to his lips.

"There's an excursion tomorrow. I don't want to go. Do I have to?"

"No, love. I'm sure there'll be others not going." She racked her brain but couldn't quite remember where on earth they were meant to be heading off to. There always seemed to be something.

"They're going to the Castle, for Memorial Day."

__Ah. That.__

Hermione stopped herself from tensing. "Then you can have a home day, hmm? I'll take the day off work. Tell you what…" She bent and met his gaze. He was smiling again, a soft one, tinged with relief. "You can spend today deciding what flavour of ice-cream we'll need. It's Friday tomorrow, so we'd better get something to last the weekend. What do you say?"

"All right," he said, ducking his head when she patted his hair.

"Go on, then. Molly will be by to pick you up this afternoon. Uncle Ron's probably using the broom wax as we speak."

"Yes!" Rowan exclaimed. "And what's for dinner?"

She growled a little. "Are you sure you aren't a Weasley? Maybe it's catching. Fish, I think. Good?"

"Good," he agreed, giggling. "Bye, Min."

"Bye, darling."

She walked backwards then waited as he entered the main building. His robes rippled in the wind before the door closed behind him. She preferred to wait a little, just in case—

"Gave in, did you?"

Hermione whirled around in surprise. "I'm sorry? What?"

A man stood there, tall and lean. She only looked at him long enough to take in tanned skin, brown eyes and light brown unimpressive hair before recalling his words.

"Excuse me?"

The stranger shrugged. "You gave the child exactly what he was after. A poor job, one might say."

"A poor job of __what__?" she hissed, edging closer. She was itching for a good argument, even if the partner was an absolute shithead of an anonymous male. "Were you listening to my conversation?"

"You were blocking the way," he sneered, gesturing to the path. "You still are."

His rudeness was shocking. "Shall we go back to the part where you insulted me and my son?" She was nearly shouting now. The man's hand twitched in his pocket; the weight of her wand tucked into her belt was welcome.

"Why? Touched a nerve?" The man crossed his arms, looming over her. "You are still in the way," he said, crisply enunciating each word.

"Don't tell me you're a parent here," Hermione groaned, suddenly exhausted. "Not that I've met everyone, but it's seemed quite lovely so far. And yet…" She waved a tired hand in his direction.

He gave a quiet little huff. "There are other reasons that adults may be required to be on school grounds."

"Oh, yes," she drawled, hands on hips, "just what I needed. A man to explain __that__ to me."

"Explain what? School roles or bad parenting?"

She reared back, stunned, and looked around for someone, anyone, to help her. But she'd taken longer than usual with Rowan, and the main gate to the school was already deserted. She realised she was trembling, and hot with rage.

"I think you can just piss off, you wanker! Who are you to talk?"

"Probably more suited than you. If the newspaper is correct, you aren't even the boy's—"

Her wand was out and at his throat before his mouth opened for the next word. She stepped closer, pressing the tip to the tender flesh.

"Go on," Hermione whispered. She didn't even care that what the man would've said was true. It didn't matter. She felt it within her now; the unmistakable and unswerving devotion of parent to child. "Finish your sentence," she continued.

He hadn't moved an inch. Instead his brown eyes narrowed and he watched her; she had the irritating feeling of being assessed.

"If you're done posturing," he said finally, "I have business inside."

She spluttered a laugh of disbelief. "Ha! You are despicable. And, also," she said, lowering her wand, "absolutely and __ob__viously so lacking in social skills that I pity anyone in there who has to deal with the likes of you. Gods! You're probably a bloody reporter."

"You wound me," he said with palpable disgust. "I am __not__."

"Oh well," Hermione declared, shoving her wand back into her belt. She roughly gathered her coat together again and pushed past him. Turning at the gate, she looked him up and down, almost laughing at his perplexed expression. "You're still irrelevant," she finished decisively, and marched through the gate back down towards the high street.

* * *

"He said __what__?" Ron was almost purple.

Rowan was a blurred figure in the sky, but growing closer. He often stayed in the air for as long as he could. Hermione suspected it was the only place where he could be free to truly be with his thoughts and whilst he was young yet, she suspected he would need the space to examine his own history in time. She was thankful too, that young children's brooms were so heavily charmed with safety spells.

She looked back at Ron and shrugged. She still felt a thrill whenever she thought about the stranger that morning, although she was yet to decide whether it was a sickening thrill of anger and unnecessary embarrassment or that it was the most interesting thing to happen in months.

"I know. Wanker."

"I hope you said that to him, not just here in the kitchen to me."

__There it is,__ she thought tiredly. Maybe the purpose for the incident this morning was to give Ron a chance to prove how wrong he was for her all over again.

"Well, I hope you're not assuming I'd just squeal and run away with my tail between my legs," she shot back, scowling. "And anyway, yes, I did. Of course I did. He was so incredibly __rude__!"

Ron pushed away from the table and stood by the window. His shoulders shook with laughter that might've annoyed her but instead she found herself chuckling wryly.

"Are you sure it wasn't Draco Malfoy?"

"I had the same thought! But no. I saw him on the way into work. It was just some random man with abominable manners, I think. I admit that I Floo'ed the school this morning though and asked if they'd hired any new staff. If they didn't think I was an idiot before, they do now."

Ron snickered. "And have they?"

"Nooo," she said, rolling her eyes. "Thank God for that."

"Maybe it was the ghost of Snape."

"Oh, Ron. Could you not?"

"Rita Skeeter?"

"Christ," she tittered.

Rowan's figure could be easily seen now. He was hunched over the broom, intent on the end process of choosing a good spot to begin his descent. Despite his confidence when actually flying, he was still a little boy, Hermione thought warmly. She supposed it was like finally learning to ride a bike but still needing a bit of help to push off. Thank goodness for monitoring charms; she trusted magic now enough to prefer it over training wheels.

"I'll go down," Ron said, then he paused in the doorway. "Hey, what are you doing for tea later? Rowan says you're having fish. Mum won't cook for me anymore and all I was going to do was a chip butty, so…"

"It's crumbed fish straight from freezer to oven. And microwave veggies. I might go all out and put some chips in the oven if I really must."

"I sort of thought we'd be living the high life by now," Ron replied with a snort. "You go on, if you want. I want to get him to land a few more times yet."

He disappeared through the door, striding back through the living room and out into the garden. In a moment he was visible, standing in the centre with arms waving wildly and shouting instructions that were carried to Rowan but not to her, thanks to the wind. Hermione watched the two for a long while, mounting and dismounting, then touching off and coming back down to the ground. Rowan's frustration got the better of him for a time and he took himself off to a nearby hedge and stood there glowering at Ron, who merely fiddled with the brooms then waved him over again for another go. When she saw Rowan go back to him, smiling as if nothing had happened, Hermione grabbed her bag and left through the back door, Apparating back to her small home on the outskirts of Inverness.

* * *

/

The busyness of the following weeks and months pushed the stranger out of her mind. There were endless cases at work to review, investigate or escalate. It got to a point that she began to wonder if there were just ten homes in the magical United Kingdom that __didn't__ mistreat elvish beings in their care. If there wasn't a complaint to attend to, then there were discrimination cases lodged mostly by Gringotts on behalf of the goblins—most were, to be fair, valid—or meetings she or her colleague needed to attend for their constant advocacy of better conditions for magical beings. It was hard to fit it all in with her schedule. Molly took Rowan after school twice a week, enabling her to work until five. For the rest of the week, she simply left whatever work was unfinished and Apparated out by five to three. All she could do was keep on keeping on, and it was exhausting.

It culminated in an evening that had her crying over her glass of wine one late night in the kitchen, remembering the scenes of mistreatment she had witnessed over the years. Would it ever end? Had they not fought a war to rid sick sentiments of superiority from the masses? Hermione finished the wine and held her head in her hands. Something had to be done. Something radical; something big enough to shake up the populace.

She certainly didn't have the answer. But she did have a quill.

* * *

/

__Madam Granger,__

__In response to your recent article in the Prophet –__

__What are your qualifications in this area? I ask as you have provided nothing other than anecdotal evidence and the prime position of your article suggested that there was something important contained therein.__

__Perhaps a page went missing in the final stage of publication?__

__Signed,__

__A rational citizen.__

/

* * *

Hermione stared down at the letter. It was only the most recent – there were many like it, though most had terrible grammar and obviously had been written by people who hadn't bothered to read her featured letter to the editor. Grumbling under her breath, she took her article and placed it on the kitchen table, then set the complaint beside it. She stared at the two, incensed. Still, she'd been gifted with a thick skin by a long-dead Professor who had taught her to how to hit below the belt when needed.

"A rational citizen? Oooooh!" she fumed. All she wanted was to send an auto-howler in reply. Maybe one that simply exploded upon receipt. Instead she grabbed her quill and took a deep breath. She'd got herself into this mess.

* * *

/

__Dear 'A rational citizen',__

__Firstly, I take issue with your implication that my own letter to the editor was irrational. Falling back to calling a woman 'irrational' for simply holding an opinion is language that belongs in the halls of Hogwarts, and not something an educated person in 2002 need write. Although, I recognise that many older wizards into their senile years do struggle with such concepts.__

__Secondly, you will note that I signed my letter as Co-Assistant to the Head of Magical Beings. The Department of Magical Beings, as you may be aware, is the former (and now appropriately renamed) Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I signed my letter with my name and title, with the intention of making clear that such sentiments are supported by the Ministry. Unfortunately, concerns I expressed in my letter are such that they require a whole-of-society approach, and not just efforts by the Ministry, of which of course there must be more.__

__With this reply, I have included booklets that may be of interest to you. They include up to date statistics on domestic assaults on magical beings, with the focus being on magical creatures. I have also included information on what you, as a concerned citizen, can do to help stop abuse and discrimination in our communities against those that are often less powerful and more vulnerable than the majority of witches and wizards.__

__Thank you for your time,__

__H. Granger__

"My God," she murmured as she folded up the reply. "Patience of a saint. That's me."

With wine in hand, Hermione whistled for her owl. She felt quite good. Pious. Like a pure and kindly do-gooder.

* * *

/

The next day, a reply arrived.

__Dear Madam Granger,__

__I thought SPEW ended with the 90s.__

* * *

/

"You arrogant knob!" she breathed. She ripped the parchment in two and made for the fire.

"Fuck you!" Hermione declared to the letter. She dropped each piece in. "Fuck you, and the owl you came in on!"

An indignant screech filled the night air outside, entering in through the open window.

"Er… sorry," she mumbled, suitably chastened.

/

* * *

She forgot about the whole affair a fortnight later.


	3. Chapter 3

****Part Three****  
__Rowan is eight__

"Late again, Granger?"

Hermione swept into the office, a coffee in one hand and a binder in the other. "No doubt, Bulstrode. How was your weekend?"

She dumped the binder on her desk and took a sip of coffee before turning to face the other witch, unravelling the scarf around her neck as she did so. Home was cold enough to make her teeth chatter, but the Ministry offices in London were still comfortable enough for November.

"Um. Uneventful." Millicent didn't meet her eyes. "Rowan get off all right this morning?"

"I suppose. He doesn't particularly like the Hogsmeade school… Molly thinks he's gifted. I'm too scared to agree in case the teacher thinks I'm one of those mental mothers—carers—that wants a report on every lesson given and whatnot. Do you think he might be?"

"Gifted? Oh, no doubt. Slim chance of otherwise."

"Well, I'm glad you're so sure. Thanks, by the way."

Their office was small enough that when Millicent stood up, Hermione had to sit down at her desk. They got on well enough – quite well, in fact, and better than any other person she'd worked with. Millicent had a knack for seeing things Hermione needed to reflect on to arrive at; helpful, in their line of work. Monitoring the wellbeing of magical creatures and investigating mistreatment reports was often a disheartening career but it was easier when she could banter with a Slytherin that seemed to understand her preference for darker humour from time to time.

Sometimes, though, Hermione could remember the rough feeling of the witch's thick arms around her neck, and they hadn't quite arrived at the point of socialising after hours, or whatever else was meant to define a proper friendship.

Bulstrode grabbed a file from the bookcase and put her hands on her hips. "Thanks for what?"

Grinning, Hermione downed the last of the coffee. "For complimenting me! You know: 'Slim chance of otherwise'. Nice of you."

"Ye-ee-s," said Millicent, staring down at the file in her hands. "That's just what I meant."

Hermione tilted her head to the side and frowned.

"Is everything all right?" Gesturing at the file, she lowered her voice. "Is it – do you know the family?"

"What?" Millicent paused, befuddled, then gathered herself. "Right, yeah. Yep. Another complaint received about Draco. Anonymous, this time, with a full log of times, dates, sounds…"

"Sounds like a lot of effort was put into it," Hermione said carefully, going for her own in-tray.

"Piss-poor effort, is that it is. I don't know how many years it's going to take before…"

"At least it came to you, not the MLE," Hermione replied, turning her focus to the lowest drawer of the desk. "Here." She rifled through it for a moment then grabbed a thin, green chocolate bar. "Club bar. Ever had one? Chocolate and mint over a digestive.__Divine__. You've never had anything better." She tossed it through the air to the witch who she was probably supposed to still loathe.

Millicent grabbed it and smirked, sliding the bar out of its packaging. "You should bring Rowan into the office again. It's been almost a year since I saw him last. Is he taller?"

"He's growing like a weed," Hermione said proudly. Truly, he was like her own son, her own boy, though she refused to allow herself to go down deeper into such feelings. But sometimes…

"Here." She shoved a hand into her bag and searched inside. "Look." Grabbing the little framed photograph from a side pocket, Hermione took her wand and coaxed out the photograph until Rowan's form was standing in front of them. __Just like a hologram__, she thought delightedly, thankful that at least Flitwick didn't want royalties each time his spells were produced. "See? He's almost at my shoulder now. And I don't think I'm __that__ short. Millicent?"

She looked away from Rowan's figure, shyly standing in the middle of the room as it was. But Millicent was staring, open-mouthed, at the boy. She was looking at him like he was a case she hadn't resolved. Hermione looked again at her boy, wondering what it was her colleague saw. He was wearing that black dress shirt Mum had given him for his most recent birthday, and tailored trousers, the sort that Molly was always trying to get him to wear. His hair, thick and wavy, was shoved back into a tie. He'd grown into his nose and it suited him, Hermione thought warmly. He had that beautiful smile on his face, that smile with its notes of shyness and pride.

"Handsome boy," Millicent said eventually. "He does really look like the Professor."

At that, Hermione reduced the figure and returned it to the frame. She busied herself with her bag for a moment, pushing aside a surprising sensation of bitterness. "Yes, he does. After the war, I couldn't even really remember what she'd looked like. It was so full on then. Everything before it is a bit blurred, to be honest. But I can really see her in him now."

"You should bring him in to visit," the other witch said, no traces of the previous curiosity on her face. "Better yet, bring him 'round to Draco's Christmas party."

She'd been about to open her first file but she glanced up at this, both eyebrows raised. "I've never been invited. Are you saying I am?"

The witch had an odd look on her face. Hermione felt herself at a loss.

"Look out for an invite, is all I'm saying. If you get one, you should come. Rowan would love it. Mrs. Malfoy decorates like she's hosting the Queen."

"I'm not sure about bringing Rowan to somewhere I've…." Hermione paused, choosing her words carefully. "I'm not sure about taking Rowan somewhere if there's a chance of me getting a… less than favourable reception by, um, some of the guests, is a good way to put it I suppose. You do know what I mean, don't you?"

"You've gone soft," Millicent said flatly. Hermione had the oddest feeling of disappointing her, a sensation that she'd usually scoff at, given the witch's thick skin.

"You've gone soft," repeated Millicent. "I'm here only because of a quota to get Slytherins into a quarter of Ministry positions – I have to be here every day, when everyone knows I got the job because of shite that had nothing to do with me. Not much, anyway," she amended, when Hermione clucked her tongue. "Anyway. If I can do that—face the lot of them in the lifts every day and pretend half of the gobshites weren't on the other side as it is—then you can go to a Christmas party with your cute kid and let him charm us senseless. All right?"

Hermione was stunned into speechlessness. A rare thing, indeed.

/

* * *

She made do with sausages for dinner that night.

"Again?" Rowan asked, shoving a chip into his mouth.

"Most definitely," she agreed, swirling a bit of sausage around her plate. "It's quick, and I like food that doesn't take long to cook. What about you? What do you like at the moment?"

He loved to talk - __really__ talk. About himself mostly, she knew, but he could surprise her sometimes. Sometimes she wondered if she wasn't making him too big for his boots – he was terribly clever, and somewhere along the line he had developed a habit of becoming intensely frustrated if he wasn't understood, or if things weren't done just how he thought they should be.

"__I__ like fish and chips. And sometimes cucumbers. And the sauce that comes with fish and chips. But, Minny, I don't know if I will still like sausages after this."

"Well, I'm glad I got one of your favourites on the plate at least," she said drily, thinking of her own childhood that had been full of salads, slow roasted things, and other well-made concoctions. She had a bad habit of hiding the tomato sauce when her mother visited.

"How was school?"

Rowan shrugged. "Good."

"Ah. Did you learn anything new today?"

"No. I always know everything," declared the boy, the words muffled through the sausage in his mouth.

"The elusive unknown…" Hermione said, smiling. She tried to remember the tips in the __Parenting Positively!__ column that the Prophet had run in a phase of ethical journalism that hadn't lasted. "Did you laugh today?" she managed. That must've been in there.

"Umm…" Rowan frowned. She waited, then ate more of her dinner. She counted to thirty and was about to prompt him when he screwed up his face. "Yes, I did. One time, at lunch, Charlie was running and then he fell over, and then I said, 'Are you okay, Charlie?' and he said, 'I think I broke my ar—" Rowan coughed, "bottom!'" He cackled with laughter and despite herself, Hermione snorted.

"Oh, lovely," she said. "It was kind of you to see if he was okay, Rowan. I bet Charlie would have felt—"

"Yes," Rowan interrupted. "Minny, what happened to my dad?"

/

* * *

She received the invite two days later, when Rowan was already asleep and she was on the couch, ready for an evening of reading with the television on in the background. The sleek owl hadn't waited, opting to drop it through the open window in the kitchen. The paper was stiff and ornate, and she stared at the envelope with trepidation.

Her first thought was to owl Ron - Harry was a father himself now and it felt odd to contact him late at night for something so small. But owling Ron might mean something she wasn't quite sure she wanted. She hadn't seen him for a month, not since a dinner at Molly's, where Rowan had been asleep on the couch and her cheeks had been warm from wine and the fire. Ron had kissed her, hesitantly, and she'd turned away like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hermione scoffed to herself. If she needed only to owl men she had a complicated relationship with, she might as well owl Neville and Theodore Nott, considering both had been attempts at being a good and proper adult with a stable partner. At least she'd been discreet. Rowan only asked about Uncle Ron, and only because Rowan's broom lived at the flat above the shop. Only Millicent knew about Nott, and Neville was a closely guarded secret.

Should she attend a dinner at Draco's? Did she want to? She didn't give a fig about being with a group of former Slytherins. Merlin knew she'd held a deep admiration for their Head of House for long enough to easily dislodge her former assumptions about most of them.

That thought made her smile to herself. She let herself imagine that Snape would be there at the party. He'd be alive and scowling. A dark presence that most wouldn't approach. But she would. Oh, would she.

Hermione went first to the kitchen and put the kettle on, leaving the dream where it belonged. She took her favourite cup and poured in milk, before adding a tea bag. If she said no, Mrs. Malfoy was far too polite these days to mention it. Draco would probably ignore her for a month or so. Nothing would really come of it.

She drank, then returned to the couch, frowning. "Maybe I __should__ go," she muttered.

Persuading Rowan could prove challenging. He was still quietly furious with her since she had told him the truth about his father, being that she did not know who he was. He wasn't old enough to think that she was lying, not really, but Hermione could see that he was hurt in a way that he could not define himself.

She'd had to tell him about Charity when he'd started school in Hogsmeade. Before then, it was made clear that she was Minny, not Mummy, and that Mummy was with the angels—it was the best she could come up with at the time—and could only watch over him. He hadn't known Professor Burbage's name, or anything else about her. She had tried to shield him as best she could, relying on Harry's guidance.

He still did not know the full details surrounding Charity Burbage's death. She couldn't bring herself to shatter the innocence that so often clung to children – that pure and beautiful belief that the world was still mostly good. One day, perhaps in the months before he left for Hogwarts, she would explain how courageous his mother had been. She would explain how determined Charity had been to make the world see what was happening at the time.

And one day, in one of his summers home, she would explain how Charity had died with a witness who did justice to her sacrifice: Severus Snape.

/

* * *

"It's not even Christmas yet," Rowan muttered, his breath puffing out in cold clouds. "How can it be a Christmas party when it's not Christmas?"

Hermione stamped her feet and grinned. "Hear hear."

"Will there be presents?"

"I doubt it. It's only really a dinner. I bet there'll be fabulous sweets, though."

They were standing just beyond the gates of the new Malfoy Manor, acquired five years previously. It was certainly colder in Inverness, but the air still had a bite to it in Somerset.

"I won't even know anyone," he said next. His voice had the tone of a boy trying not to whine but not really managing it.

"Stick with me. I won't know half of them."

"And why did I have to wear robes?"

"You said you wanted to because I was," Hermione said patiently. She was always at her best in parenting when she felt she was about to be judged on it.

Rowan harrumphed. "Do we really have to go inside?"

With all the inner turmoil she felt herself, Hermione couldn't blame him for being reticent. Looking down at him, with his formal black robes and beautiful brown hair, Hermione smiled. He looked terribly handsome.

"These things always go on for ages. Why don't we just stay for dinner and afters, then go straight home?

He gave an infectious little-boy grin. "Okay. That'll still be way past my bedtime won't it?"

"I'm sure Mrs. Malfoy would be thrilled if I tell her that's the only reason you agreed to come," she replied, smirking. "Come on then."

They trudged together to the gate and she touched her wand to the crest. For a moment she thought she saw the big, ghostly mass of the Wiltshire mansion but then Rowan pulled on her sleeve and she blinked hurriedly. It was a much smaller home in front of them. A country home, like the small manors on the front of Christmas magazines. To her surprise Hermione exhaled with pleasure as she stared; there were Christmas lights everywhere, strung over the roof and artfully arranged around the hedges. It was truly lovely.

It felt all right, she decided. Quite all right indeed.

"Come on," she repeated.

They walked through the front garden, which would have been a sight indeed if it were Spring. She could imagine it easily though – the lavender would be beautiful and far more fragrant than now, and those roses…

"Oh, lovely," said Hermione. "Look." She pointed them out to Rowan, who dutifully paused and studied them. The wind moved around the pair as they admired the flowers.

"You don't have any of that colour. Should we put some in tomorrow? We could go to Uncle Neville's."

"Ah, hm…" Casting about for something to say, Hermione led them to the front door instead. "We could. Or… here, let's go in. We're here now." She knocked on the door and tugged him closer. "Your hair…" She smoothed it behind his ears.

"I'm not cutting it!"

"No, no," she said, patting his arm.

The opening of the door took the next words from her lips. Mrs. Malfoy was resplendent in the infuriating way of put-together women who could look good in anything. Silver robes, long straight hair. Hermione patted her own bird's nest before she remembered herself.

"Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy," she said evenly, forcing herself to take the witch's hand instead of self-consciously smoothing down her own deep blue formal robes. "Thank you for the invitation."

Thank God for Rowan. He blurted out his own greeting and the elegant woman's attention went straight to him. Hermione was so relieved she thought she might do a little twirl right in the middle of the fine, red rug.

They followed her into the rest of the house, and the first part of the evening went by in a blur of polite small talk and Rowan abandoning her as soon as he realised Teddy Lupin was holding court with a handful of Zabini cousins in the conservatory.

"Traitor!" she hissed after him, fully aware that he wasn't listening.

__Bugger.__

Hermione looked around at the small crowd. She edged closer to the wall. The living room was… lovely. There was that word again. She took a sip of the __lovely__ wine and tried to look busy by examining the bookcase behind her.

"Granger."

"Thank God," she exclaimed. "Bulstrode."

"I've come to rescue you. You look like you need rescuing, I reckon."

"You're rambling. Are you… sloshed?"

"Me? Neeeever."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm staying for the food and then I'm leaving."

"I love that. Here's to that." Millicent cheerfully touched her near-empty glass to Hermione's. "That's my new motto. I'm going to live by it."

"Look at you, battle-axe Bulstrode!" Hermione crowed, careful not to raise her voice. "I haven't seen you smile so much in one conversation since… ever."

"The Malfoys have laced their wine with a drop of calming drought and a teaspoon full of cheering concoction since I've been out of nappies."

Hermione choked on the wine in her mouth and tried to spit it back into the glass. She gagged then raised her head slowly to see Millicent almost doubled over with silent laughter. With narrowed eyes, Hermione set the glass down on the bookcase and cleared her throat.

"I thought you were going to rescue me. You liar."

"I am, I am." Suddenly calm, Millicent looked her right in the eyes. "I'm taking you to meet someone important. I've drunk enough to admit that this is the reason you're here, but I'm right and proper enough to tell you beforehand that you've nothing to fear, all right?"

Hermione groaned a little. "If this is work related, I'm not coming."

"You and your bloody self-care. Come on. It's not work."

Hermione let Millicent take her by the arm and lead her out of the room. They went back into the hallway, and she spied the boys in the conservatory, a game of cards on the table between them. She followed Millicent up the stairs and past two closed rooms.

"Here." Millicent paused. "Look… I only found out recently. I haven't been keeping it from you. And it wasn't my story to tell. But you're not… he's not here to… Just go in."

"Right." Hermione nodded. There was a thought going around her mind: __leave - time to go.__ She ignored it. "In I go, then."

/

* * *

Hermione ignored the way Millicent was opening and closing her mouth like an awkward fish. She pushed open the door, went in, turned and resolutely closed it. She took in the wallpaper—floral—and the carpet—cream—before noticing a tall man standing with his back to her, staring out the window at the lights below.

He wasn't in a hurry to turn, so she had a good look. She tilted her head. Put a hand on her hip. The reflection in the window had on trousers and a white shirt, open at the collar. A black coat. She examined the triangle of bare skin at his throat. Brown hair, slim, tanned.

"We've met before," Hermione said suddenly, confused.

"And not in the best of circumstances," said the man, taking a measured step around. "You called me irrelevant."

"You insulted my son. What did you expect?"

"Your son," he echoed strangely. "Yes. I don't know what I expected. I was not at my best."

"I'm not sure what the purpose of you and I being here is. In fact, I think I'd prefer to go downstairs and stay at the party."

"I rather hoped you would stay for a moment."

"I don't give my time to random rude men," she shot back. "Unless you have a good reason. And it had better be a brilliant one."

There was an expression on his face that she couldn't interpret. His long nose looked…

"Are you uncomfortable?"

"Yes," she admitted. "So, if you'll—" Hermione stopped abruptly. She forgot her hesitation and advanced on the man, drawing her wand. "You're wearing a glamour. A concealment. There's a shimmer – right there, by your right ear. I didn't see it last time and I looked hard enough. Why are you – but that's not what I want to know first. Who are you?"

The man's face crumpled in a pained look before he nodded. At once his hair grew longer and straighter. Darker. Coal-black strands snaked over his shoulders. Hermione watched avidly as his shoulders straightened and he grew taller still. Tanned skin fell away to an ice-white. Deep grooves etched on his face, marking stress of years past. His brown eyes darkened. He hadn't shaved that day.

He—

"I insulted your son," he said. His voice was lower. Like a river under the darkness of night, deep, and hiding secrets underneath.

Unable not to answer, Hermione nodded. "You did."

Severus Snape sighed and sat down in a nearby chair, letting his head fall forward. He said something, so softly she thought she was in a dream.

"Say it again."

He lifted his head and faced her.

"My son," he said slowly.


	4. Chapter 4

__Epilogue to follow shortly. This part is dedicated to the guest reviewer from chapter 3 who wrote, and I quote: 'Severus, I'm assuming it's him, knows exactly which bottoms to push.' Yes, indeed, my dear ;-)__

.

* * *

****Part Four****

__Rowan is eight__

"I'm scared," she whispered. She was on the floor, where she'd knelt with a strong thud onto the carpet. He was still on the chair. Still holding himself like he didn't want to be in the room and yet couldn't be anywhere else.

"I won't take him away from you."

"Oh, God," Hermione half-moaned, rubbing furiously at her eyes. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. I'm not that selfish. I would never… I couldn't…"

Snape gave a slow nod. "I know that."

"He's your child," she said in wonder. She stared at him, wide-eyed. "Yours. I can see it now. I thought you were—"

In the stress of the moment, Hermione hadn't even registered that she was conversing with a dead man.

"I believed you were dead," she finished lamely. "Clearly not."

"No. Winky…"

Hermione beamed at him. He blinked, but didn't seem to be able to look away.

"Of course," she said. "I don't doubt it. How did I not see it before? I mean you were dead but the timing… it would've worked… he has your nose. Your skin. Nothing from me. Not that he would, I mean, I'm just—" Hermione forced herself to shut her mouth.

The shock was wearing off for both of them. Hermione began to feel a pleasant thrill inside of her, something made of security and knowledge. She had no inkling at all of how Snape felt, but she didn't move from the floor, and he didn't move from the chair.

"Why now?" she asked. "Why not before?"

"I tried talking to you." He began to glance around the room. He laced his fingers together, then quickly placed his palms over his knees and dug his fingers into the material there. "Twice."

"Twice?" she frowned. This was the most bizarre conversation she'd ever had. "I only remember the school."

"I sent a letter. A response. To one of your…"

Her mind raced as she tried to think of anything she'd received that matched his tone, or his preference for insults that cloaked honesty, or just anything he may have known about that other responses she'd received over the years wouldn't have addressed.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. "S.P.E.W.?" When he nodded, she could only shake her head in disbelief. "How did you expect that I would realise it was you from __that__?"

His upper lip curled and he scowled at her. "I did not. It was simply a way in, you—" He cut himself off. He looked so furious with himself that she could only take pity on him.

"There's someone who should be here, I think," she said softly, though it pained her. "I think I should go and get Rowan, Professor Snape."

"Severus," he said immediately. "You've cared for my son for six years. You're the only one who…"

"Who what?" she pressed.

"Who bothered to __do__ something!" Snape shouted. His hands were now balled into fists. "They kept him in that place for almost two sodding years and no-one even thought to do what you did. No-one."

Hermione tilted her head to the side and stayed silent. She had learnt over the years to take a step back when she needed to, and when he glanced at her, she only watched him.

Snape blew out a hard breath. "I couldn't get him. Do you understand? They killed her and when I went back to the house, he was already gone. I only came to know much later that a safeguarding spell had been triggered. She hadn't even…" He looked away from her and stared at the wallpaper. "She hadn't informed me that there was a spell. She was smarter than… than her actions made her appear."

"Do you think what she did wasn't brave?"

His gaze whipped back to hers. "She was one of the bravest women I have had the honour of knowing."

"Who were the others?" Hermione didn't know what to do with herself. Her body felt heavy and uncooperative. Snape was looking right back at her, his dark eyes holding her there on the floor.

"My mother. Lily Potter. Charity Burbage. Minerva McGonagall." He paused, then his hard stare softened. "You."

Hermione smiled, though she felt her lips quiver. "I don't need your gratitude, Severus. Caring for Rowan has been the best part of my life. __He__ is the best part of my life. He's a beautiful person, you know."

She hadn't meant to hurt the man, but he winced and put a hand to his stomach, as if it were a blow.

"I know. It seems impossible that such a child could have anything to do with me."

"Can you tell me why you haven't come sooner?" She wanted to know. There was a sensation of righteous anger making itself known and it was bothering her. She wanted to do away with it.

"There are only two people in the world who have the right to know and you are one of them," Severus said.

He made to pull out another chair near the rickety table he was sitting beside but then shrugged and lowered himself to the floor. He folded his long, lean legs under him. She tracked every movement until one pale hand settled on the carpet and he began to talk. Then, she could only stare back at him, brown eyes meeting ebony.

"There were some things I could not escape. I knew—Albus and I, we both knew—that there were thousands of ways it could end. It was almost certain that I would be imprisoned for a time… I was not, in the end, but it felt like it. Albus' plan was Winky, Beauxbatons, and a new Minister of Magic, in that order. Madame Maxine employs a number of healers that are… not terrible. I was not permitted to return to England until my name was cleared. I was told it was not a __tactical priority__ to reveal myself – instead I was in France, assisting the Ministry to round up my former __brothers__. I came back on and off under a glamour… Kingsley turned a blind eye but I could not reveal myself to anyone who did not know my real fate," he finished in a voice laced with bitterness.

"Winky the house elf healed you, then?"

"Lucius Malfoy owed me a life debt," he answered, a thread of steel in his voice. She saw a glimpse of the man he had been; she wondered for a fleeting second whether the man in front of her now was how Charity knew him. Honest. Strong. Hermione forced her mind to collect itself.

"Did Dumbledore know about Rowan?"

Severus snarled at the thought. "No. I couldn't trust him."

"You trusted Lucius Malfoy?" she exclaimed. "After all he—"

"Slytherins look after their own," Severus said, with a flash of fury in his eyes that dissipated almost as soon as she'd recognised it. He sighed, rubbing roughly at his face with his hands. "I took a Vow for his son. Rowan's safety was my __right__ after…"

"So he healed you? You bound him to heal you?"

"I did not," he hissed. "I bound him to __knowledge__. He… He was the only one who knew of Rowan. Someone had to __know__. Charity refused to speak with me of such things – couldn't see what I did – couldn't open her eyes…"

"Go on."

"He Petrified me. Crude enough to stop the flow of venom for a short time. He left to find Draco… and then the elf…"

Hermione's head ached with the force of it all. "You said he knew about Rowan. Severus, he was in the orphanage for—"

He shoved his face right before her, grabbing her hands. "I know! Don't you see? All of the news stories – the 'bravest man' – __me__, and I left my son's fate with a man who was bound not to say a word, who was destined for Azkaban, who died there, who—"

"Stop." Hermione untangled their fingers and put her hands on his cheeks, pressing down hard enough to make the madness end. "You're here now. All right?"

He nodded slowly. She heard his awkward swallow. As she removed her hands, he began to speak again.

"I should have told Narcissa in the beginning. But I didn't… there was no way to know that the woman I had long ago dismissed was the same one who would lie to the Dark Lord's face. I went to her after I heard news of Lucius' death. He had told her of my fate, but not of the boy."

"Your name was cleared six months ago," she said carefully. "With a posthumous award. We could have been having this conversation—"

"I was afraid!" His voice, quiet to begin with, was becoming softer. She recognised it from his days as a teacher, when he would sometimes speak at a volume no higher than a knife slicing through the air, heading for a target. This time he was aiming at himself.

"I was a coward," he murmured, a twisted sneer on his lips. "I am aware that my name is not listed on the birth certificate, Miss Granger. I have neither the right nor the inclination to cause a child to suffer by linking him with __me__."

"You'd better come up with something else," Hermione said evenly. "He won't accept that for an answer."

Severus gave a small nod. "Have you told him about…"

She sighed. "His mother? Yes. An edited version. I will tell him the rest before he goes to Hogwarts and someone else tells him something entirely incorrect. I want him to know how brave she was."

"And how much she loved him," he muttered. He put his head in his hands. "Rowan was all that mattered to her, in the end. Do you know she called out to me to save her?"

"I do," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"How?"

"I had a long conversation with Draco Malfoy not long after Rowan came to live with me…"

Hermione could not make herself continue. The nauseating horror of what the man in front of her had experienced that night clouded over them. She sighed, closing her eyes for a long moment before lifting her chin and giving him her focus again. He was trembling as he relived it.

"I looked right at her and entered her mind. All she could think of was him. I saw him as she last saw him. In his bed, asleep. He looked the same as when I had seen him a week before. He didn't hear them take her. He was still sleeping when she…"

"I'm sorry, Severus." Hermione reached for the man then, and laid her hands on his shaking shoulders. "I'm so sorry." She hesitated for a second before sliding her hands around to his back and moving closer to him, holding him to her as he wept. He did not return the embrace, but he shook harder, his head falling to her shoulder. He hardly made a sound. She hated to think of how he had learnt to cry in such a way that no-one knew it.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, rubbing his back. Her heart ached for him.

She wanted to apologise to him again. Instead she held him until her body felt stiff and sore on the floor. A clock in the corner ticked steadily on.

"Tell me how you decided to be here tonight," she said after he had eased away from her arms, but remained close, their knees touching on the carpet. She wondered if she was supposed to feel odd being in such proximity to her former, menacing Professor. The bond of Rowan eclipsed it. She took his hand and tried to smile in a way that was intended to be reassuring and welcoming.

He pulled his hand away then returned it, seeming to struggle with himself.

"I do not deserve your kindness," he said finally. She had the fleeting impression of a child, ready to flee, when his body tensed then slowly, so slowly, calmed again.

"Well, I won't accept your self-blame. The only thing you are responsible for is waiting until tonight to tell me, so you had better admit what made you do it now."

The look he gave her would have been sheepish on any other person, but she couldn't connect such an emotion with Snape.

"I had thought to count on the forgiving nature of the season," he admitted, his posture turning rigid. "You don't accept that I blame myself. Perhaps you will blame me then for taking six months to try and make up for over six years. I could not think of how to approach you, or how to fix all that I had done."

"What was done by others is not your fault, Severus," Hermione said softly. "And I won't say that again. I don't have much patience for people that won't see what's right in front of them."

"Thanks to you," said Severus. He shook his hand free and instead grabbed her shoulders, giving her a small shake. "My son thrives because of you. He won't turn out like…"

"Like you?"

"No," he sighed, full of relief. "Not like me."

"I can see that your opinion of yourself might take a little longer to alter," Hermione responded flatly, taking his hands and removing them from her shoulders. "Come on. I think we've stayed here long enough. You said there are only two people in the world who have the right to know everything."

He looked terrified for a fleeting moment before a calm mask stole over his face. "I did."

Standing, Hermione pressed a finger to his forehead. "Don't occlude. It wouldn't be right."

"No."

Snape let her prod him until he was standing over her, a deep frown upon his brow. "Here?"

"No," Hermione said. "I think you should Disillusion yourself and come back to our home. We've missed dinner but Rowan won't care. It was me that came for the food."

He snorted inelegantly. "Narcissa won't let you leave without your share."

"How many others know?" she asked then, distracted. "Obviously Mrs. Malfoy. Millicent. Kingsley…"

"Winky," he reminded her. "Lucius, which is why I came to Narcissa after he died. She decided eventually that Millicent would be the person least likely to share the information before I could see you."

"Clever choice. I think…" She looked up at him and touched his arm. "I think you've done the best you can, Severus. Rowan will see that; maybe with a little time. You'll give him that, won't you? If he needs it?"

"I will give him anything," Severus said hoarsely. "And you."

"I'll take your word for it. Come on, then."

She spelled him herself and gave him a fold from the skirt of her robes to hold as she left the room. She felt him behind her, a solid, steadying presence. Down the stairs they went, then down the hallway. She reached the conservatory and sure enough, there was her boy, Severus' son, sitting in a window-seat. He was bent over a small table, carefully placing all the playing cards back in a pile. Severus was frozen behind her. She could only guess what emotions were running through him now.

"Rowan?" she called, smiling when his head snapped up.

"You missed dinner!" he accused, but still he hurried to her. "Actually they've just started. I wanted to wait for you. There's a roast lamb," he hissed, "with potatoes."

She groaned a little and swooned. "Yes! But can we take it home with us? I've just received some news. Really important news. It's about you and me and… I think we should go home and talk about it."

"Okay," Rowan said easily. "Just a minute."

He went back and shoved the rest of the cards onto the pile. When the table was clear he jogged back to her.

"I'm ready, Minny. Can we watch a movie later?"

She let Severus adjust his position behind her as they all turned and made for the hallway where Narcissa stood waiting, her face betraying nothing.

"Oh, I think you might be a bit too busy for that," Hermione whispered into his ear, before she smiled at Mrs. Malfoy and took the covered tray she was holding.

"Thank you for the lovely evening," she said to her host, who only bowed her head and smiled. She drifted back from where she had come, elegance personified.

"Why doesn't she talk?" Rowan whispered loudly, breaking the spell. Hermione shook her head as they went out through the main door.

"I think she just didn't quite know what to say."

They walked back down the garden path to the gates. Snape's gentle grip on her robes was steady and sure. She handed the tray to Rowan, sure that he had never left a party so easily in his life. Had he changed, in those few short seconds? Had she? Had she become surer of herself, now that she wasn't alone?

"I think I know how she feels," Hermione said then, before she reached for Rowan with one hand and folded Snape in with the other.

"To home," she said, and twisted them away.


	5. Chapter 5

_Apologies for any mistakes at about the mid-point. I added a big chunk today and probably fumbled over a few words. We're all done now. Love to you all. See you around here soon! _

* * *

**Epilogue**

Within three months, Severus rented a house four streets away from her small bungalow. Rowan spent a week complaining about it: his father was here, and why shouldn't they live together as a family? Hermione wisely did not voice any opinion at all on the subject, for she did not trust herself. Her body betrayed her when Severus was around, and he was with them often. Since the night when she sat down with Rowan in the living room, with Severus waiting in the kitchen, they had hardly been apart. She had watched, fascinated and in awe, as he had walked into the room and sat on the couch by the fire, as if he had always been here with them. Rowan hadn't known where to look or what to say. He'd been overwhelmed, lost. Scared. Time, patience, and Snape's inability to restrain himself around Christmas gifts only a week later had done much to soothe the boy's timidity.

Rowan had been like a new child for a time. He had wanted to spend hours with Severus and she let him, taking him in late each afternoon to feed him dinner and put him to bed. There were months where he had weekly tantrums at home, screaming at her and banging his fists on the walls. Severus had apologised profusely, swearing that he had done nothing to upset the boy. But Hermione had seen this before in her child; she'd known what it was to withstand the storm of the boy's world being upended around him as a two year old when he had come to stay in the little home in Inverness. She knew, too, how to let Rowan test her, and how to be patient and show him that she was still the same Minny and he was still the same Rowan. It comforted her to know that some things were still the same about him: he still had to be sure of love, to know that it would not go away.

* * *

/

_Rowan is nine_

"I thought we might have dinner together," Severus said hesitantly. He was standing on the threshold to her home.

Hermione frowned and spread her hands. "We do that every night. Almost every night, anyway."

The wizard cocked an eyebrow. She leant against the door frame, appreciating how he looked in his winter coat and jeans.

"You and I," he said slowly. "Rowan said he was seeing the Weasleys…"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, suddenly nervous. "If you want to. I mean, I wasn't going to do anything for myself, I usually just—"

He glowered at her and gestured for her to follow him. She closed the door and refused to run to catch up with him. Eventually he turned with a huff and waited.

"I've cooked," he growled.

"Don't bowl me over with happiness, now," she said drily, but she was grinning when she met his small smirk.

/

/

* * *

_Rowan is ten_

"This Christmas," said Rowan, "I want… a broom. And a cauldron set. And Uncle George said I could have one of his testers of that—"

"I think not," Severus boomed imperiously from the laboratory in his back garden.

Hermione stifled a laugh. She was sitting in his makeshift library, reading a tome as Rowan practiced throwing a quaffle through the hoop Severus had installed against the fence. He really was quite good. She had made an effort to learn about the sport, though it was Severus' job to watch the weekly Friday evening matches on the Welly. How anyone thought a wizarding telly should be shortened to such a name was beyond her.

Rowan was not one to be dissuaded. He began to make his case, his voice rising with anger each time Severus flatly denied the request. Hermione thought about going to the older man and telling him he really had no hope of stopping a Weasley promise, but then decided not to. It was good for Rowan to have it out with his father. She rose from the chair and marked her spot with a whispered spell before heading out the door and back to her own house.

/

* * *

Both males were with her that night, Rowan asleep and Severus swaying on the couch. He was absolutely knocked over by whisky. Somehow, though, he managed to speak with perfect clarity.

"He told me that he deserved to get something he had been promised. And that I would never know about what that meant because I was gone for so long."

"Oh," Hermione said, wincing. She took a sip of wine in sympathy. "Yes, he has a way with words. He can really get you. Did you let him see that it hurt?"

"Couldn't stop it," he mumbled morosely. "Thought I was going to bloody cry."

"Well, that's good then," she praised. "It's important for him to see the impact of things he says. You wait: he'll be extra nice to you tomorrow. It's his way of making up for it."

"I wish I knew that about him."

"You will," she said fervently. "Look how far you've both come. You're his father, Severus."

He gave a completely uncharacteristic beam of a smile. "Yes. I feel like it. Is this what it's like? To love someone so much that it feels like your heart is being torn each time they leave your sight?"

"It could be."

"Was that insensitive?"

"No," she said, trying not to sound so fond of him. "It's true that I can't be the one to tell you what it's like to be a parent. But… I think it is as you said."

"Tell me what it's like for you."

She'd bared her soul to him so often that now was no different. "It's like the biggest gift in the world. I have someone to love for the rest of my life. I haven't been truly alone for six years and I never will be again. And there are times when he looks at me and I feel that if I achieve nothing else in life, I have made sure that he knows he is loved. And at the same time, sometimes the guilt is suffocating."

He uttered a low, pained groan. "Don't feel guilty. I hate that you feel guilty."

"How could I not? I have what I have because his mother died, Severus. My happiness is—"

Severus reached over and put his fingers to her lips. Her eyes flew to his. He began to speak then stopped, opting to keep his hand upon her lips, as a slow and shy smile spread over her mouth. As soon as the spell began it ended, and he took his hand away abruptly.

Severus' head fell onto the back of the couch. He sat silently with his eyes closed, and she took the chance to really look at him.

In the firelight, he was full of extremes. His black hair and golden skin. His tall, thin body that did not hint at his strength. His hands, long-fingered yet full of scars and old burn marks. Hermione put down her wine and went to sit beside him. He held himself utterly still. She knew he was awake.

She thought about saying something. They'd been having dinners alone together every month for a while, and beyond that, they shared the intimacy of parenting a child.

"Did you love her?" Hermione whispered instead, hating herself for it.

Severus opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. "No. I should have. It wasn't like that."

"How do you know you didn't?" she breathed.

"I know," he said.

They stared each other by the light of the fire. The Christmas tree stood twinkling in the corner. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss _her_, so she wouldn't have to take the leap and risk everything. She wanted to slide her hands under his shirt and touch his skin in the golden light. She wanted to know what it was to have him inside of her, his body filling her the same way he rarely left her mind.

But she was terrified. If she lost him…

"Good night, Severus," she murmured. "Stay here. I'll get you a blanket."

By the time she returned, he was already gone.

/

* * *

A month later, she was alone. Rowan was at Severus' for the night. She was sitting up in bed, a book lying face down, forgotten, on her lap.

Four years.

Four years since he'd shocked her into silence with his return to her world. In that time she'd worked more, starting up to full-time hours again. She'd grappled with the guilt and misplaced anger that burned in her each time she forced herself not to be possessive with sharing Rowan. She'd dealt with her nature to want to fix everything. She'd put Severus and Rowan's relationship aside in her mind, not wanting to make them a project.

But she still wondered.

Hermione tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. She'd been thinking about their conversation – it hadn't left her. How did he know he hadn't loved Charity? What had he done with her? What was it like?

She was aware, too, that pondering those thoughts to no end probably meant that she…

/

* * *

He didn't bother to knock on the door.

"Severus," she greeted him, shoving her hair out of the way. "I didn't know you were at home."

"The conference finished early," he explained, trudging fully into the kitchen. He paused, staring at her as she washed the dirt out from under her nails. "What are you doing?"

"I finally planted those flowers Rowan bought me for Mother's Day. Mum must've helped him to find things that didn't mind languishing in a pot for…"

"Months?"

"Shush," she admonished him, grinning.

Severus' lips quirked into a grin. He eased around her, reaching for the kettle. School was due to finish in an hour. She'd reverted back to finishing early so he could attend some fancy Masters weeklong conference in Belgium. She took in his clothes out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he had worn his jeans like that in Belgium, with that long coat she wanted to burrow into. And if he had, surely others would have noticed that…

He made the tea, waiting until she dried her hands to hand her a cup. He met her gaze and gestured with his head to the garden.

"You asked me about Charity," he began, staring resolutely at the grass.

She was full of embarrassment. "You don't have to tell me! It's none of my business."

"You've mothered my child. Of course it's your business."

Hermione found herself speechless. She drank the tea instead.

Gruff and awkward, he leant forward until his long black hair obscured his face. She closed her eyes and listened.

"We were… the arrangement we had…" Severus cleared his throat and started again. "We were friends, sort of. We both wanted… comfort. Things escalated quickly; we both didn't think of…"

If it were anyone else, Hermione would have scoffed. She was a dedicated planner. She'd been on a long-lasting dose of contraceptive potion since Ron gave her a certain look in sixth year.

"Go on," she managed.

"I didn't want her to keep the child," Severus admitted tensely. "Which ended whatever it was that we… had."

"You didn't want to bring a child into war."

"She lived moment by moment."

"And after he was born? What then?"

He put the teacup on the little iron table and pushed his hair behind his eyes. His black eyes were warm from something long considered.

"I was captivated."

"Of course you were," she breathed, reaching for his hand. "He's beautiful. I wish I could have seen him as a baby."

Severus let his wand slide from where it was perpetually kept in his right-hand sleeve. "Here. See." He focused for a long moment, then drew a careful square in the air before them. A picture of a tiny baby filled the frame.

"Oh my goodness." Hermione stood up and walked closer to the image, staring avidly. "Look at him."

"Sometimes I wish he was that small again. Before he learnt how to argue."

She snorted and returned to his side. "Let's talk about something else. All our conversations revolve around him." Swivelling, she faced him and tapped her chin with her finger as she gathered her thoughts. "What's your favourite brand of tea?"

"Or what about this: what did you do with yourself for all those years Hermione? Weren't you lonely?"

He was giving her a look that she couldn't interpret.

"No-ooo," she said awkwardly. "Well, sometimes. Not really though."

Severus tipped the remainder of the tea into his mouth. "I was."

"I can only take Kingsley in small doses. I understand," she replied, giving him an exaggerated wink. He wasn't one to laugh, not really, but he gave a quiet huff of amusement.

She gave herself a pinch to force some confidence into her. "And are you still? Lonely?"

Severus stood up. He seemed so much taller to her now than he had in the past. He checked his watch. "I'll do the school run."

"You didn't answer me!" she called to his retreating back.

He half-turned and offered a quick, shy grin. "No-ooo," he murmured, quoting her, before he entered the house. The front door closed with a click not long after.

"Interesting." She caught herself before she said anything further out loud in the garden. Taking the tea cups back inside, Hermione only noticed once she'd put them in the sink that her hands were trembling.

/  
/

* * *

_Rowan is eleven_

Platform nine and three-quarters was the same as it always was. Parents wept and students put on brave faces if they were younger, and bored faces if they were older.

"Was it like this when you were here, Dad?" Rowan asked quietly. He hadn't left their side.

Hermione looked at him fondly. He looked beautiful in his school robes, though she had taken to railing against the barbaric practice of boarding school whenever he wasn't with her. She already ached with sadness at the idea of going home to an empty house.

Severus squeezed her arm but he only had eyes for Rowan. A good thing, she was sure, given the many stares that they were receiving.

"It was," he rumbled. "I don't think it ever changes."

"I want to be in the same House that Teddy gets," Rowan said. He was so nervous that he was trembling. "Will you come and visit me?"

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him honestly that most parents never managed to get permission from the school to do such a thing but Severus cut her off.

"Yes," he said firmly. She gaped at him. "Watch Professor McGonagall try and stop me," he growled, pulling his son into his arms. "I'll be there. I've already arranged it. And you can write to us every day. I love you, Rowan."

"Yes, every day!" Hermione echoed, throwing her arms around them both. "We'll always be here for you, sweetheart. I love you, my darling boy."

Rowan wriggled out of their hold and tried to smooth down his hair. "I don't want to g—"

"Rowan!"

There was a head of purple hair making its way through the crowd. Rowan promptly shut his mouth and gave Hermione and Severus swift hugs, then grabbed the strap of his trunk.

"Bye, Minny! Bye, Dad!"

"Wait, Rowan, hang on—"

She went to draw him back but Severus took her hand instead and stepped behind her, his other hand on her shoulder.

"Let him go," he said into her ear.

Rowan looked back before he got on the train and waved. "Love you!" he called.

She thrust her hand in the air and waved madly. "We love you too!" she cried.

She gave a last attempt to run to him but Severus wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to his warm, solid body.

"He's all right. Look at him."

Rowan's cheerful grin appeared at a window. He waved once more, then turned away to his friends.

"He'll be back," Severus crooned, rubbing her shoulders. "You can let him go for now."

And she did.

* * *

"I'm sorry,'' she mumbled an hour later, finally leaving his chest to reach for a handkerchief. "I didn't even cry that much when he went to primary school in Hogsmeade. I wasn't prepared for it."

She looked up to catch him hurriedly wiping under his own eyes, and she loved him more for it.

"Neither was I," Severus admitted, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "I'll miss him. I hate the school."

"Me too!" Hermione exploded. She jumped up and stormed to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She rarely did anything more than make tea these days. Severus had quietly taken over cooking for them, tactfully never mentioning it.

"It's _barbaric_! Ripping children away from their parents. At eleven!" She came back and pointed a teabag at his face. "Do you remember how you felt when you got there? I was terrified! Eleven! Ugh!" Whirling away, she went back and poured the water. With a scowl, she added a drop of whisky to each cup.

"Here," she said, returning to the lounge. "Who the fuck thinks up these rules?"

Severus snorted with mirth. His black eyes were warm as he patted the couch beside him. "Sit down. And why the fuck would I want to know about such an obviously awful and masochistic person?"

"Exactly!" She sipped her tea. "Thank you for your enthusiasm."

"Oh, anytime," he drawled. They sat in silence for a moment, but then he put his cup down and slowly, ever so slowly, rested his hand on her knee. She hardly dared breathe.

"I was glad to be there when I was eleven. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me then."

"I know," she said, turning to fold one knee in under her and face him fully. He let his hand hover until she was settled, then let it fall gently on her knee again. His palm was warm.

"I wasn't thinking when I said it," she whispered. She didn't know where to look. He filled her senses.

"No," Severus agreed.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it. She shifted a little closer. He did nothing but watch as she did it again, until his mouth was there, right there.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispered.

He sighed and cupped her cheek. "You won't," he said. "I promise you: you won't."

She leant into his touch, closing her eyes. "I've thought about you since you came back. I haven't been able to stop."

"I've learned that I despise time wasted," Severus murmured, bending his head. His lips were almost on hers. She could feel his soft mouth move as he spoke. "I should have done this when you asked me. You asked how I knew myself. How I knew when I loved someone and when I didn't."

She couldn't speak. She pushed herself forward but he held her there, so achingly close.

"I knew then, and I know now, Hermione. You won't lose me, because I love you, and I will be here for as long as you will put up with me."

"You'll be here for a while then," she said, smiling against his mouth. "I thought you said you despise wasting—"

He pressed his mouth to hers. Just a teasing touch. His lips were warm and sweet.

Severus pulled back, just enough to see her face. Hermione could not hold back her smile.

"Again," she said.

/

_The end._


End file.
